


do you wanna build a snowman

by 8sword



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Dean Winchester, F/M, Frozen references, Kidfic, M/M, Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie, Valentine's Day, but alas no references to ballwashers, daddy!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a single dad, Cas is the guy he met online, and Emma's the kid he wishes he deserved. The usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you wanna build a snowman

 

                Lydia calls on Monday night to see if he can take Emma on Valentine’s Day. It’s on Friday this year. Usually Dean only gets Emma the last weekend of every month, but Lydia and Husband Number Two have plans, and she hints that if Dean takes Emma this weekend, he can have her next weekend, too.

                Dean hates that he does this, that he has to take these scraps from her like a dog. But a part of him’s relieved, too. He and Cas have only been on two dates so far, and they were both good, better than Dean had expected from a guy he met online, but they’re still at the discussing  movies and TV shows stage, not so much the making out one. It’d be uncomfortable to sit at some restaurant with a bunch of people being lovey-dovey around them while they avoid looking at all the PDA.  Now he has an excuse to tell Cas he can’t do Valentine’s Day.

                “That’s good,” Cas says when he hears the news the next day. His voice sounds harried over the phone; he has cafeteria duty this week, keeping an eye on all the rowdy high schoolers to whom he teaches Comp-Lit.

                “Yeah,” Dean says, crumbling crackers into his tomato soup. Then— “Wait, what?”

                “I promised my sister-in-law I would watch my niece that night. I—just a moment, Dean.” There’s a scuffle of sound, Cas putting his hand over his phone, then a muffled, “Mr. Evans, please get off the table!”

                “I didn’t know you had a niece.”

                “What—? Oh.” Cas has removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “I do.”

                Dean stirs his soup with the plastic spoon he found at the back of the reception desk drawer. “How old is she?”

                “Six.” Cas sounds exhausted just thinking about it.

                “Dude, why didn’t you tell me? Emma’s six.”

                Cas is quiet for a moment. Dean hears a kid shouting, “Whooh, shake it!” in the background. Then Cas says, “You don’t seem to like revealing much about your prior relationship to me, Dean.”

  
                Dean almost scoffs because, dude, so not true. But then he thinks about how he could have invited Cas over to spend the evening with him and Emma instead of just nixing the night altogether.

                Maybe Cas is right.

                “Well,” he hears himself say, “do you, I mean—do you wanna meet her?”

 

\- o -

 

                He spends Thursday night in front of the computer at the reception desk, scrolling through Google Images for Batman-themed Valentines to print out. He can’t decide on which one, prints out three instead. One with Batgirl because she used to be Emma’s favorite. One with Batman because Emma’s been kind of weird about girly stuff lately, or at least she was at Christmas when Dean gave her the  _Frozen_  dolls thinking that since she’d liked the movie so much, she’d like the dolls. And one with Robin because hey, you can’t go wrong with Robin, right? He’ll decide which one to give her later, after he picks up a box of candy for her at the drugstore on the way to Lydia’s.

[[V](http://vinpauld.blogspot.com/2010/02/valentines-new-old.html)]

[[V](http://retcon-punch.com/2013/02/13/happy-valentines-day/)]

[[V](http://tomztoyz.blogspot.com/2013/02/new-batman-graphics-happy-valentines.html)]

                The drugstore on the way to Lydia’s is sold out of Emma’s favorite Reese’s Cup hearts, though. Dean has to settle for buying her a heart-shaped box of Whitman’s instead, and it’s enough to have him feeling guilty before he even pulls into the Martins’ mile-long driveway. He should’ve gone Valentine shopping for his kid earlier. Fuck.

                Lydia’s butler opens the door before Dean even gets a chance to knock. His eyes flick toward the Impala parked in the driveway, the same distasteful way they always do, and then Emma’s stomping out the door and down the front steps. She climbs into the Impala’s backseat without a “how do you do” to Dean.

                “Uh,” Dean says. Looks at Jeeves, who raises an eyebrow. Looks up at the second-story window where he can see Lydia looking down at him. "Thanks." He follows Emma to the car, sliding into the front seat. “You have a good Valentine’s?”

                “Valentine’s Day is  _dumb_ ,” Emma says.

                Dean glances at the sheaf of Batman valentines and box of candy in the passenger seat. Reaches over, pretending to pick a different cassette tape out of his shoebox, and pushes them into the foot well. “I see. You…wanna talk about it?”

                “ _No_ ,” Emma says, waspishly, and that’s that.

 

\- o -

 

                When they park at Plucky Pennywhistle’s and get out of the car, Emma doesn’t reach for his hand the way she used to when it was time to cross the parking lot. It’s part of the pattern that’s been forming ever since Lydia got married again, the one where Emma looks at him like he’s a stranger sometimes, and at the same time that it punches Dean in the guts, it feels like  _serves you right_  and  _it’s just as well,_  because Dean’s not got a lot to offer her, and pretty soon Emma won’t want to spend much time with him anyway. It’s just as well that she’s not too attached. He’s seen the guys at the garage, the guys he used to work with construction with, who only get summers with their kids; has seen how half the time the kids are sullen and resentful at being stuck with them for the summer, and yeah, maybe that’s why he let Sammy push him into this whole online dating thing. He’d seen that lonely future stretching out ahead of him and it scared him.

                Cas is waiting just inside the doors. He’s wearing the same burgundy jacket and black glasses as in his profile picture, a checkered collared shirt underneath that makes him look unspeakably nerdy, and Dean finds himself smiling despite everything.

                “Dean,” Cas says when he sees them. He looks relieved. Dean wonders if he’s ever been to Plucky’s before. Probably not. Cas is probably a Plucky’s virgin. Dean’ll have to get him a giant rainbow slinkie to commemorate the popping of his Plucky’s cherry.

                Emma clears her throat. Dean glances down at her, sees immediately from her expression as she looks up at Cas that she is Not Impressed. It’s probably the checkered shirt. Emma is what Sam’s wife calls a fashionista—today, for example, she’s wearing a navy blue blazer. A  _blazer_. Who knew they even made blazers for six-year-olds?

                Then again, Lydia probably had something to do with it, so.

                He clears his throat. “Uh, Emma. This is Cas.”

                Cas bends slightly to extend his hand to Emma. Emma eyes it.

                “He’s your boyfriend,” she tells Dean. He’s not sure if it’s a question, and the weird lilt of Emma’s voice on  _boyfriend_  indicates she’s not quite sure if it is, either.

                “Uh,” he says. “Yeah.” Belatedly, he looks at Cas, meeting his eyes. “I guess?”

                Cas takes this, and Emma’s non-acceptance of his handshake, with grace. He straightens and inclines his head. “I am amenable to that.” He turns slightly, nods behind him at the maze of glowing arcade games and the loops and tubes of tunnels suspended from the ceiling for kids to crawl through. “Clare has already gone in. She is familiar with this…establishment.”

                Dean snorts at the way Cas says  _establishment_ , like Plucky’s is a strip club or something, and Cas smiles slightly back. It breaks the ice a little, and Dean breaks into a full grin, edging forward to bump their shoulders together as he pulls out his wallet to pay for admission.

                Cas stops him with a hand on his arm. “I’ve already paid.” He holds out the bright yellow Plucky’s bracelets for him and Emma, fidgeting slightly with his own as Emma extends her hand to the teenager at the booth to have it stamped with the UV security stamp.

                Dean’s awkwardness rushes back. “Dude, you didn’t have to—”

                Cas’s smile becomes a startled deer expression, then guilt, like he’s realized he just made things uncomfortable. Which is dumb because if anyone’s to blame for that, it’s Dean. Dean’s the one who doesn’t want this to be a real date, exactly; who figured meeting up at Plucky’s would be a good idea because Plucky’s  is definitely not Valentine’s Day date material. But this is a date, there’s no way it’s not a date, Dean’s here and Cas is here, and on top of that Dean brought his kid to meet Cas and Cas probably thinks he’s angling for a domestic partnership now, or something—

                “You can buy the pizza,” Cas blurts out. “That will make it even.”

                “Dean,” says Emma loudly. "I don't want pizza."

                Dean stares at her, his attention torn from Cas. He tries to keep his voice even. “Since when do you call me Dean, kiddo?”

                He doesn’t want to have this spat in front of Cas. Doesn’t want to show what a sucky dad he is in front of Cas, how he can’t even get his own kid to love him. But Jesus  _Christ_ —

                “Mom said—”

                “Your mom’s not in charge of what you call me!"

                He regrets it the minute it’s out. A startled, stricken look flies across Emma’s face. It’s only there for a split second before disappearing behind the defiant glare she got from him, or Lydia, or maybe both, but it’s long enough. She spins around and runs into the play place, disappearing behind the Skee Ball machine.

                “Shit,” Dean says. He pushes the heel of his hand against his forehead. They haven’t even been here ten minutes and already he’s messed it up. “Cas, I’m sorry, I gotta—”

                “It’s all right,” Cas says. “Go. I’ll watch your shoes.”

                Dean blinks at him for a minute, then remembers the No Shoes rule in the play place. He bites down on a curse and unlaces his boots off quickly, lurching forward into an air hockey table for balance as he hops, one-footed, to pull them off. He doesn’t really have time to feel self-conscious about the way they kind of smell from his feet being in them all day, or the red scaly psoriasis peeking over the edge of his socks as he rolls his jeans up to tug off his boots. But he does anyway, the back of his neck burning as he jogs into the play place to find Emma.

 

\- o -

 

                Forty-five minutes later, he has to admit defeat. He’s sweaty and sore, and he’s scared the shit out of more than one kid up in the tunnels, most of them alarmed by coming face-to-face with a grown man in what’s supposed to be an adult-free zone. One kid just laughed jubilantly and blew a raspberry at him before scurrying past him, which was enough to make Dean’s guts twist a little harder, because she’d been Emma’s age, with only slightly lighter hair, and it wasn’t fair that Emma couldn’t be like that. Wasn’t, couldn’t, Dean doesn’t even know, just wishes they could be Emma and Dad for once, the way they used to be.

                He can’t find a tunnel he fits through to get back to the ground, so he ends up going down one of the enclosed slides instead, crawling backward because he’s too big to slide down it without hitting his head. He’s red-faced by the time he reaches the floor, yanking his shirt back down where it’s ridden up in the back. He swipes his wrist across his damp face as he pads toward the eating area in his socks. Cas is in a booth there, reading something on the Kindle that seems to go with him everywhere.

                He looks up when Dean slides into the booth across from him. His eyes take in the absence of six-year-old. “I’m sorry.”

                “No, man, I’m sorry.” Dean pushes his hand into his hair. Leans his forehead against the heel of his palm, elbow digging into the sticky tabletop. “I—didn’t mean to ruin you guys’ Valentine's Day like this.”

                Cas spreads his hand atop his Kindle. Considers Dean for a moment with that unfathomable gaze that makes Dean squirm most of the time. Today he just feels dull and colorless, too tired to be unnerved. “You and Emma don’t have a very good relationship.”

                Dean lets out a breath. “Uh, yeah. No.”

                He rubs his head, looks back up at the tunnels over their head. He looked  _everywhere_. Should he have the manager page her over the intercom? Would she even come? What if he sends one of the employees in after her, one of the kind-looking female ones or something?  _Hey, yeah, I need help dragging my kid out of here—she’s probably going to say she doesn’t want to come with me, but I’m her dad and not a weirdo, I promise._

                “We don’t spend a lot of time together,” he tells the tabletop. “Anymore, I mean. I, uh—I wasn’t in a really good place when the whole custody thing went down, and—yeah. Maybe things would be different, but—well.”

                Cas is quiet. Dean rambles on. “Lydia’s from a really rich family, you know? And Emma…I think she’s kind of ashamed of me sometimes. You know, like, why does she have to have a dad like this. All her friends at school have, like, millionaires for parents, and I wear coveralls to work.”

                He lets out a laugh. “Shit, man, this is  _not_  what I invited you here for. I’m sorry. Forget I said any of this.”

                Cas studies him. Dean does shift under the weight this time, averting his eyes to Cas’s hand where it’s still splayed on his Kindle. It curls closed as he watches, slides slowly across the tabletop to rest just a few inches from Dean’s.

                “I certainly am not as familiar with your family dynamic as you are, Dean. But I do have some practice at observation, and Emma’s shoes did not speak to me of someone who is as concerned with status or appearance as you seem to believe.”

                “Her  _shoes_?” Dean says. But that’s when a kid pops up at the end of their table.

                “Uncle Cas!”

                Holy crap, it’s the raspberry-blowing kid. Dean stares at her, and she grins back, a grin with two teeth missing in front, and blows another raspberry at him.

                “Claire,” Cas says with a sigh. “This is Dean.”

                “Hi!” She climbs up into the booth with Cas. Her socks have M&Ms on them. “Can we have pizza now?”

                “I,” begins Cas, but Dean waves down one of the Plucky servers.

                “Sure, kid,” he says. “Pepperoni cool with you?”

 

\- o -

 

                It’s been so long since he was at Plucky’s—Emma’s fourth birthday party—that he forgot how bad the pizza tastes.

                “Ugh.” He spits out his bite. “Tastes like ass.”

                “I’ll have your piece,” Claire says.

               “Help yourself.”

                Claire lunges across the table to grab his plate. She puts his piece on top of hers, lining them up crust to crust, a double-decker pizza slice, and crams half of it into her mouth. Cas sighs again.

                “Loo’, unca Ca’!” she says around her mouthful, taking her hands away so the pizza hangs out of her mouth. “No han’s!”

                Dean chuckles despite himself. This is what kids with two parents get to be, not fuck-ups like him, or angry and resentful like Emma. For a second, he almost wishes he’d agreed to what Lydia wanted, not insisted on taking over Bobby’s garage when he died. They might still be together, and Emma—

                “ _Mr. Winchester? Mr. Winchester, if you could please come to the front desk, we have found your child.”_

                Dean’s out of the booth in a shot, shoving his boots on. Peripherally he’s aware that Cas gets up and chivvies Claire after him, but mostly he’s focused on weaving through the kids and parents between him and the front desk. What does that mean, we’ve found your child? We’ve found her and she’s okay? We’ve found her and she’s not okay?

                There’s a STAFF ONLY door behind the front desk. It’s where the yellow-shirted manager takes him, into a depressing white-washed room full of bits of Plucky costumes where Emma’s sitting on a folding metal chair. Her face is stiff and rebellious now, glaring at the manager and Dean, but it bears the unmistakable signs of recent tears. Her eyes are red and her nose is puffy and her cheeks are sticky. Dean was sitting around eating pizza and laughing at Claire hamming it up while his kid was crying. Jesus.

                He crouches down next to her. Doesn’t touch her knee, or even the back of her chair. She’s stiff and shuddering in the way he knows means she’s fighting down sobs. She sucks in a breath, and makes a sound like ripping carpet, and Dean wants to hold her but he doesn’t. Just squats there and makes eye contact with the Plucky manager. She seems to understand what he’s saying with his eyes. She says, “Take your time,” and tiptoes out of the room.

                Behind him, Dean hears Cas say quietly, “Come, Claire.” He doesn’t twist to give Cas a grateful look or even an apologetic one. He feels too ashamed, too low-down in his guilt.

                It’s a long time before Emma’s breathing calms down. When she’s stopped shaking, when she’s taken a deep breath and scrubbed her sleeve across her nose, Dean asks quietly, “You wanna call your mom?”

                She shakes her head.

                They leave Plucky’s through the staff entrance, circumventing a Dumpster and a couple of teenagers smoking something by the loading dock. Emma doesn’t hold Dean’s hand, and her sniffles are loud in the cold quiet, white puffs in the dark night. She climbs into the backseat of the Impala without speaking. Dean keeps the radio off the whole drive to his apartment, in case she decides to say something, even if it’s  _I hate you, Dad._  

                 Or  _I hate you,_ Dean.

                Somebody on the first floor of his building has their stereo on so loud Dean can hear it even before he kills the Impala’s ignition in his parking spot.  _That’s amoreeee_ , blares into his ears as he gets out of the car. It follows them up the stairs to his apartment, remains a low hum of presence even when he’s shut the door behind them, thrumming in the floorboards. He remembers, belatedly, the valentines and chocolate still sitting in the Impala’s footwell, and maybe that’s what’ll fix this, maybe that’s what they need, but Emma’s already crawling into her bed, under her covers, not even bothering to get undressed. Dean stops in her doorway before he even realizes he’s followed her, watching her pull her comforter over her head. He curls his hand in his jacket pocket, feels the doorjamb’s edge dig into his shoulder.

                 _Do you wanna build a snowman_ , he thinks, stupidly, and pushes his temple against the wood to feel the hum of the music downstairs.

 

\- o -

 

                He spends a long time looking at the six-pack sitting in his fridge. His fridge is old, doesn’t do the thing where it beeps when it’s been open too long, so he stares for nearly ten minutes before shaking himself. Fills a glass with water instead and drains it, staring at the grease spatters on the backsplash over the stove. He waits, watching the numbers on the stove clock make their way to ten o’clock, and then he goes back to Emma’s room.

                He only plans to take her shoes off for her. She’s got eczema, probably 'cause of him, and for some weird reason it flares up when she wears things on her feet overnight, like the footie pajamas that first set it off when she was a baby. If she wears her shoes overnight, her ankles’ll be an itchy scaly mess in the morning, and it’ll take days for them to calm down again.

                He sets his water glass down carefully on her dresser, watching her face to make sure her eyes stay closed. She’s curled up on her side, little whistles of air escaping between her lips. Dean resists the urge to kiss her forehead and peels back the bottom of her green comforter instead.

                Then he stops.

                He hadn’t remembered to look at her shoes, after what Cas said before. But now he sees what he meant.

                Emma’s got a pair of boots on. They’re scuffed, and dirty, and way too small for her.

                They’re the boots Dean bought her for their camping trip two summers ago.

                He taught her how to tie her shoe laces with these boots. Crouched down in the damp dirt and pine needles with her foot braced on his knee and showed her how to loop, duck, under. She was so little then, his kid, laughing when they found tiny frogs in the river, crying when she got a splinter from the firewood. Clinging to him when she asked if Momma getting married again meant she wasn’t going to love Emma anymore.

                Dean sits down on the edge of Emma’s mattress. He unlaces her boots carefully. Takes them off her feet and puts them on the floor. Then he turns on her nightlight and shuts the door quietly behind him.

                Tomorrow they’ll go to the store.

                Tomorrow they’ll buy her a new pair of boots.

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [whatever snow does in summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951152) by [8sword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword)




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